And then there was one
by Evilwhiskers
Summary: Thirteen-year-old Camelia has never let the fact that she was adopted get in the way of her life. She has loving if slighty complicated family, a not-quite-so loving relationship with her school, The DWMA, and one very annoying counseller. But a fateful party, her wacky professor's invention, and the discovery of her true heritage, is about to turn her life upside down . . .
1. Chapter 1

**Authors notes****: Hi guys! This is my first fanfic, so please don't hate. Actually, scratch that, any comments will be appreciated! Tell me if it sucks, if it's good, ect. Hey, make Christmas come early and review it for me!**

My vision went red. I lost what little calm I had. I tackled him, and when he was on the floor, began hitting him. Blood streamed from his nose. The chants and laughter quickly turned to shouts and screams.

Yeah, well, they've learnt not to insult me. Or my family.

I placed my hands around his neck, strangling him.

"What do you say?" I snarl, imagining his face, starved of oxygen.

The boy groans and gurgles. I tighten my grip around his neck.

"You . . . uh-uh-ih-idiot." He chokes.

I tighten my hands even more.

I can see the fear in his eyes, and suddenly, all I feel for him is pity. Sheer pity. But it's not like I would have killed him, anyway. I'm above that sort of thing, even though it happens here. Students have killed other students.

"And how, exactly, am I an idiot?"

He spits at me. A feeble attempt – his saliva dribbles down his chin. Or maybe he isn't trying to get at me. Maybe he's trying to speak. I loosen my grip slightly so he can talk.

He gasps for air, and then looks me in the eye.

"You trust the wrong people. Your parents are dead. Your mother, Your father-"

"-Is death itself." I cut in.

Momentarily thrown, he gawps at me.

"What?"

"My father isn't dead," I pause, "He's death itself."

He begins to chuckle. I admit, I must sound overly-dramatic, but perhaps he's forgotten the situation he's in. I tighten my grip again, much tighter than before, and I see him panic. But he doesn't fight, or thrash, or move. He's just accepting the fact that he could be about die. And . . . he's just accepting it.

He's not even putting up a fight. I hear heavy foot-steps approaching, getting nearer by the second.

I bend down very gently, and whisper in his ear.

"I pity you."

Then I sit up, with his blood on my face. I let go of him, and his lips lose the blue tinge. He's gasping for air, like he never really realized how good oxygen tasted until his stupid little brain was deprived of it.

We sit there, together, enemies, still and quiet, surrounded by other shocked students.

I sit frozen, even when strong hands come to haul me away to be punished by Lord Death. I remain motionless.

I don't care. I want them to take me away.

I am sick of this school.

I am sick of the stupid DWMA.

The four people that take me away lead me down a grey corridor. Three of the four cannot look at me, as if I have wronged them, or caused them a great deal of pain. Do I even know these people? One or two might be trainers or teachers here.

When I'm fighting I usually look for a weak point in a person – their neck, the small of their back, even the back of their knees. When I'm fighting a group I usually have to find the weakest of the group.

I can easily tell who it is here. The red-haired man. He can't even acknowledge me. It's like I'm not there. At least when the other two of the four make eye-contact, they quickly look away!

"So," says the fourth person, a woman in bandages, flicking through some papers she's holding. We pause at a door.

"According to records, you've been to see Lord Death for punishment," she falters, and her blue skinned partner looks over her shoulder, and whistles.

"Even your parents weren't that bad, and trust me, your dad got in some pretty bad fights-"

"My parents? Don't you mean my dad?"

The blue man coughs, and looks away awkwardly.

The red-haired one looks like he's about to have a breakdown.

"Spirit." the one with glasses and the oddball screw speaks for the first time, in a warning tone. But the one with the glasses doesn't look too great either. He looks like he's about to cry.

"Well," says the blue one, "Good luck, kid. Up you go. You better have a good excuse. . ."

. . To what? Explain myself? To Lord Death?

I'm about to come face to face with Lord Death. Big Deal. They just think I'm scared. No chance in hell. I've seen Lord Death so many times; I could remember his funny mask, silly voice, and huge hands since I was young. In fact, I've seen him too many times, for good and bad reasons.

So, you know what? Lord Death can do his worst.

He's my grandfather. He doesn't scare me.

**More Authors notes****: So, what do you think? Short, I know, but when I was typing this up from my written version, I realized I never made proper chapter breaks, ect, so I just had make them where appropriate, so this was the best one I could find without having to type up about seven more pages!**

**So, comments, suggestions, reviews (if you're lovely!) all welcome. And also, even though the main character (you'll find her name later) seems really heartless, in later chapters you'll realize she's kinder than that. Ox Ford jr was being an idiot like his father (that's the kid she was beating up) and insulting her and her family (you'll meet them later, I'm sure you'll be quite familiar with them), Okay, bye now!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Notes****: Hi Guys! Sorry this chapter took a little longer . . . Most people are updating their stories every hour, I swear! Anyway, comments, constructive criticism, hell, even a review because I love you guys! Anyway, I forgot this for last chapter: Disclaimer – Sadly, I own NOTHING, because if I did I would a) be rich b) loved by fans c) Maka and Soul would've gotten together ages ago. Anyways, I do own the plot of the story, any characters that are the character's children from the future, and the main character (Camellia). Enjoy!**

So, here I am. Standing awkwardly, in front of Lord Death. I cough.

"Ahem. Lord Death?"

"Uh huh? Well, hi! How are you, Camellia?

I wince at my full name.

"I'm . . . good."

"Great! Great! Great! What've you been up too?"

"I nearly killed a kid."

At first, he thinks it's a joke, questioning me, asking me what a couple of times. Then there's really long silence. I could have sworn the temperature dropped.

"It is against our rules to harm other pupils." Really, I know I should have shut up then, but this little voice inside me wants to be let out, and heard.

"Well, technically it isn't."

"What?"

"As long as the dual's supervised, it's fine. But unsupervised duals happen too, and students get killed sometimes."

"Oh . . . well, my point is, your violence is getting out of hand. As your headmaster, and your grandfather, I'm telling you, you need help."

"So, what . . . I'm going to get a psychologist? Have to go to Mental hospital? You're going to treat me like a loony? I'm not mad! I don't need help!

Lord Death sighs. "But you do. Deep down, you know you do."

I sigh.

"This is your own fault you know." He turns around.

I start to speak, but he interrupts.

"You may leave now. You're dismissed." He turns round, and calls to me on the way out.

"Look, Camellia. Go home, do your homework or something, avoid Ox jr, and don't pick fights. Just . . . keep your head down, okay?"

I nod, and grit my teeth, in an attempt to withhold my rage.

I walk out, grab my black shoulder bag from where I left it outside, and run home. How will I tell anyone? Actually, how can I not tell anyone? How can I tell father?

I let myself in, jump the stairs two-at-a-time, and run into my bedroom. I sit on my bed and try not to cry. Instead I try to cheer myself up. Like what makes me laugh – namely my father throwing tantrums because my room is 'asymmetrical'. I began to form a list.

My alarm clock has the number eight scribbled out. Coincidentally, when my father finds this, I will have to get a new alarm clock, and the new clock will be the eighth one this year. No doubt this alarm clock will last a lot longer than the last ones.

I have tidied everything in my room but deliberately to one side, so when my father comes through the door to my room, he will be greeted by the sight of an uneven and asymmetrical bedroom.

I have moved my family photo two centimeters to the left.

I smile and walk closer to the picture. I can see why Ox (Jr) picked on me. My family really is . . . different, to say the least. In the picture theres a twelve-year-old me (it was taken last year) in the centre. Next to me is my laidback father, (his friends call him Kidd) my silly grandfather, and my dad's boyfriend, Crona (Yeah, my dad's gay, get over it). To left of me is my Aunties Liz and Patti (They're also our neighbors. When Crona moved in they thought they should give Dad, Crona and me some space to adjust as a family, so they moved. Dad didn't want them too, but he made sure they lived near us). To the right of us is my uncle Black star, and my aunty Tsubaki (who was still looking slender back then, before her bump started to show).

I smile at how different me and my dad look. He told long ago that I was adopted, so it wouldn't be a shock when I found out, but to be honest, I don't care. I mean, I still wonder about my parents, of course I do, I mean, in my situation, who wouldn't? But, in the end, I don't actually mind. This is my family. They're my family. And I still love them.

I look in the mirror. We do look different, though, me and my dad. I don't have shiny black hair, or a white line going all the way around my hair. I don't have pretty amber eyes that sparkle when they find something entertaining, or straight, white, perfect teeth.

Then again, I'm not a shinigami.

Instead, I have floppy, sandy-coloured hair (I used to wear it in bunches when I was a lot younger. Then I grew up. Now I wear it in a ponytail, which is also easier for fighting and makes it less likely to get blood in your hair), Blood-red eyes (which makes me look slightly psychopathic, but in the end, I thought it added to the threatening look which kept kids like Ox (Jr) away from me), and spiky teeth. When I was younger, the kids at school used to call me a 'shark head', or vampire, or a witch. In fact, they called me a lot of things that were a lot worse. And they hurt me. And I was tired of being pushed around. So I hurt them back. And I hurt them bad.

My father was proud at first. No daughter of his would be pushed around. He doesn't know how out-of-control I've become. Surely, I won't have to be the one to tell him?

**Authors Notes****: So, what did you think! Comments, review, stuff would be appreciated. (Cheers to Mystic Lion who did the very first comment. Have some cake.) Also, I'd just like to say, In this chapter I think it becomes really obvious who Camellia's birth parents are/were, and in this story I didn't just want some MakaXSoul fluff (much as I love it), and the repetitive family scenarios of the one mum, one dad and one or two kids family model, I wanted to have a different family model because you never really see anything different like that, so yeah . . . sorry to rant a bit! **

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's notes****: Hi guys! I know you are all hating on me because I take absolutely AGES to write chapters, but forgive me, I have been busy. Anyway, Comments, reviews and general stuff always welcome (AND ALWAYS APRECIATED!) In this chapter, Camellia basically loses it and Kid tries to be a good father :3 Also, a guest commented suggesting I put in a fight with Stein (great idea, have some cake). Although it's not in this chapter, and you don't see him again for quite a while, there is already going to be a fight with him. An epic one. And, seriously, Camellia's going to kick some (mad) butt. Anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy!**

"Five minutes until dinner, Camellia. All of your family's here for dinner too." Dad shouts, rousing me from my pleasant daydream of beating up Ox after he insults me again.

That's dad's code for 'put something nice on'. Usually, for what little classes I attend at the DWMA, I wear something comfortable for fighting and running, like my red trainers, black tights, a black linen skirt (linen moves easily, unlike denim which is stiff), and a black short-sleeved top. If it's cold weather, then I'll wear the cloak my father gave me. It's black with white lining at the sleeves, and a special hood that hides my face ut still allows me to see. As you can probably guess from the major black element, my father buys most if my clothes. Liz and Patti bought me the red trainers with the white laces that glow in the dark. Dad didn't approve but I managed to convince him.

I don't wear dresses much. I only really them when Aunty Liz, Aunty Patti, Aunty Tsubaki and Uncle Blackstar come for dinner.

I sighed and opened my wardrobe, trying to find the rare dashes of colour in my wardrobe that Patti and Liz have bought me. Uncle Blackstar and Aunty Tsubaki buy me clothes. Probably because Liz and Patti have more money, but also because they tend to buy me more unique things. A polished wooden box, in which photos of the family are kept. Or an ancient katana that Blackstar just 'happened to find whilst clearing things out' (who knows what they have in their attic?) My favourite gift, though, was a silver locket. I've worn it but never opened it, because Blackstar said that when dad thinks I'm ready, I can open it and find out who the 'two most important people in the world are'. I think it's just two pictures of him in different poses (Dad says Uncle Blackstar used to be like that, and in some ways, still is), or perhaps a photo of him and Tsubaki.

I don't know, but it's tantalising. Sitting there on top my drawers. Catching the light, glittering at the edge of my eye, urging me to grab it and-

"Camellia, our guests are here!" Dad shouts, distracting me.

"Oh, coming!" I yell back. I turn back to my wardrobe; grab the first thing in my reach – a pale blue dress.

"Camellia!" calls dad again. I curse and change quickly.

I hesitate, then grab the locket and fasten it around my neck.

"Coming!" I shout, and run downstairs.

I slip into the lounge. Everyone turns to look at me. I smile and take a seat on the nearest sofa.

"G-G-Good evening, C-Camellia." Says Crona, looking at my dad for reassurance. Dad says Crona's quite unstable because he was abused as a child. Those sad grey eyes . . . they look so broken, so worn down. I hug him. He tenses in surprise but soon relaxes and puts his arms around me.

"Ahem." I whipped around. Both my crazy aunties, Liz and Patti, are standing there, arms crossed. I run and hug them.

"How's are little girl?" says Liz.

"Yeah, has Kidd not been spoiling you . . . ? Look, we got this for you." Patty revealed a matching (if slightly smaller) cowboy hat from behind her back.

"Thank you so much." I said, hugging them again.

Then a loud shout comes from behind us.

"IT IS I . . ."

I turn round and complete the sentence.

"THE GREAT CAMELLIA!" I yell, and walk over to my blue-hair uncle. He hugs me, then ruffles my hair, chuckling.

"That's my girl. You're learning." Then I turn to the woman next to him, who could quite possibly one of the sweetest people on the planet.

She hugs me tightly, which is hard with her swollen belly. Her raven-black hair flops about her hair.

We draw apart and smile at each other.

"Hello Aunty Tsubaki."

"Hello Camellia.I've missed you."

I snort. "You saw me a few weeks ago."

She has this faraway look in her eyes.

"Oh, what? Oh, yes, yes. You sounded just like someone I used to know then."

"What? When I snorted? Seriously, Aunty Tsubaki?"

She laughs.

"Yes, it must sound silly, mustn't it? He was very sarcastic, you know."

"Who was?"

"Who was what?"

"Who was sarcastic?"

She frowns, looking worried. Then she looks me in the eye, smiling.

"No one dear. No one."

I shrug, suspicious.

"Okay."

Changing the subject, I put a hand on her oversized stomach.

"How many weeks to go now?"

She sighs happily. "Two, I think. Blackstar reckons they're going to come early, because they're a fighter. Kicking to get free! Oh, that reminds me, I-" She stop and looks at Blackstar, who takes her hand, "-We have something for you." She says, reaching into her pocket, and pulling out a pale blue envelope (it's almost the same colour as my dress).

She hands it to me. "Go on, open it."

So I do. Inside is a black piece of paper, with lots of blue and green scratch-like markings, that made up a sort of shape. Like a . . . baby?

"Is this the ultrasound?" I ask.

"Yes, it is. Turn it over." Says Black star, proudly.

And again, I do. Written in pencil on the back are the words . . .

"It's a boy!" I say.

I must happy because everyone is smiling. And for a second, everything is picture perfect, and it doesn't matter what anyone says, because this is my family, and Ox can't lay a finger on them. Well, he can if he wants his head ripped off. But then, in the next few seconds, everything goes wrong.

"Tsubaki, Blackstar, congratalations. You're going to be absolutely amazing, great, kind, generous," I hesitate, running out of words, "parents. This- this little boy is gonna be lucky. You're gonna be great parents!" I gush, wondering if I have overdone it. **[I gush way too much XD]**

Blackstar smiled, but he looked a little sad. He looked like he was about to say something, but then he catches dads eye. But then he says it anyway.

"Well, not as good as you're parents would have been, had they got the chance."

There is a silence. I can here something far off. Like a distant memory. It sounds like . . . jazz? A piano?

"What are you talking about?" I say, still trying to figure out where I heard the music. "My parents? What do you mean? Dad's great . . . what is it? Why are you talking about? Why is everyone looking at me like that?"

"Kidd?" says Blackstar.

"No," My dad says, "I need to be the one to tell her. Not you."

Another silence.

And then something inside me snaps.

"I'm here, you know. I'm still here."

"We know that-" dad cuts in.

"You DON'T THOUGH, DO YOU?" I scream. I have surprised everyone with my anger, Even myself. Well done, Camellia, you've just lost control. You've just taken the last step, shouting at the ones you love.

"WHY DOES NO ONE LIKE ME? OR TRUST ME? OR EVEN UNDERSTAND ME? ALL MY LIFE, UNANSWERED QUESTIONS, LIVING IN A BUBBLE. I LOVE YOU BUT ITS TIME YOU TOLD ME THE TRUTH!" My mouth is so sore from screaming. And my heart is so sore from hating.

Everyone is silent. Everyone is looking at me. I run upstairs, tears streaming down my face. I can hear father apologising to everyone, showing them out. Crona walks past my door some time later.

Then I hear dad come up a few hours later. I ready myself for shouts at why I need help. But he passes my room and heads straight for the attic. I flop back on my back and close my eyes. Maybe sleep will make it better. I hear the jazz again. The far-off sound of memories once forgotten. Memories just itching to be remembered. Something sweet and old. I let the piano's song lead me into a deep sleep. One filled with a woman's face, and scent of milk. A man's fingure, poised at piano, playing for those he loved. A cry in the dark when they were gone.

For now, until I'm sure, this is all I have.

Broken memories and fitful sleep.

**Authors notes:**** Hi guys! Sorry for the sucky ending :( Anyways, reviews always loved and I write this for you guys. I am sorry if this doesn't make sense YET. It will become clearer but this story concept Is based on the main character lack of knowledge to her situation, confusion and unknown origins/heritage (I'm using fancy words, ooh!)**

**Anyways,**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! :) BYE!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Notes: OH. MY. GOD. Guys, I am so, so, so, so, so, sorry it took me about a million years to update. Feel free to eat me for being such a slowpoke. My computer was broken, I forgot my password, and as dumb as I am I only worked out yesterday how to get back on *facepalm* So, I'm really sorry guys, I messed up. If you forgive me, maybe you could leave a comment, criticisms or a review for me? Also, 'FLUFFY CARROT' please have some cake. Now please! Anyway, thank and enjoy!**

I'm not sure how long I've been asleep but I was suddenly aware of someone moving around. The fact that they were quietly ranting about symmetry under their breath, though, was a little bit of giveaway. I sat up and dad turned around, surprised.

He opens his mouth to speak but I'm quicker.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out, "I really am. It was wrong of me to embarrass you. I shouldn't have shouted like that. I'm sorry. But you can't tell me anything and neither can Uncle Blackstar, and even my teachers can't, then who can I get the truth from? No one will give a straight answer. Unfinished sentences, unexplained conversations. Nothing people say about me is clear. Or true! I'm always upsetting people. I'm always compared to people I don't know. Look, I'm sorry, but what I said still stands."

I expect him to shout. I think he will scream. I know he will shout and scream.

But, no. He just nods.

"And I'm sorry. I never knew you felt his way. I should have told you sooner. Because what upsets people is you. You are brilliant, and clever, and pretty in every way. Do you understand? It's who they see in you that upsets them. It's not you. Okay?" he says, looking me straight in the eyes.

I nod. There is a question on the tip of my tongue. And I know if I don't ask it now I may never get another chance.

"Do you mean my parents?"

Silence.

"Yes."

Silence. My heart beats.

"Will you tell me about them?"

Another pause. I can sense him weighing his options.

"Yes."

Silence. He speaks again.

"Okay then. Your mother and father were a weapon-meister pair. They were both very strong. They were in the DWMA, same class as me. They never created a death-scythe. But they were amazing. They just kept trying. They did Death city a great service."

I don't know how to feel. I'm finding my heritage, I'm being told my own past, but . . . I feel empty. Because I never knew these people.

"Anyway, your parents were very young when they had you, only a year or two older than you are now. They came to one of my birthday parties and got very drunk. I think . . . er . . . that's when you were . . . conceived."

"I was an accident?"

"Even if you were, they still loved you very, very much. But I don't believe your mother wished to have a child when she was that young."

"Oh. Can I meet them?"

"No, I'm sorry. We took you in because the service they did death city. . . Involved our plan going wrong. You're parents were too clever and knew we couldn't afford to lose, so they took their lives in the process of defeating lord deaths enemy. They saved us, and-"

He can tell I'm not listening. It's a lame explanation. He can't even tell me why, or how they died. Some service.

But I have to make an effort. All he's done is try to protect me, and love me. And be my father. And how have I treated him?

"What were their names?"

And suddenly, in my cold, quiet room, I hear the far-off sound again, the jazz.

The piano.

The woman's laugh.

And my father can't hear any of this, I realise. Perhaps I am going mad.

"Your father was called Soul Eater, though I believe his real name was Evans. Your mother was called Maka Albarn. Somewhere out there, I believe soul had a family. I know for certain he had a brother. Wes, I think his name was. He would be your uncle. You would have had a grandmother, called Kami, but she went missing when she heard the news of-of your parent's deaths."

"Here," he says, turning to the door, picking something up and returning. He hands me a small cardboard box. He gets out a small photo. In it is two people; a young boy with white hair, red eyes and teeth that look like a . . . shark's, and a girl with floppy, sandy hair, emerald eyes, and a heart-shaped face.

"So that's . . . Maka," I say, pointing to the girl in mid-laugh, "And Soul?" I point my finger at the smirking boys face.

"Seeing them . . . it kinda feels like . . . I belong. I don't know, does that sound weird?" I smile at my father.

"No," He smiles back at me, and put his hand under my chin, gently tilting my head upwards to look straight at him. Softly, his voice wavering, he says, "I see them in you everyday."

He hugs me, and I feel his shoulders start to shake. If I ever needed to stay strong, now would be the time.

When he calms down, and sits up again, I ask him, "Am I a weapon or a meister?"

He frowns, "You mean you don't have a partner?"

I shake my head. He dosen't know that half the time I'm not in school, and if I am, I'm fighting.

"Well, have you ever transformed?"

"Um . . . I can do this." I smile sheepishly, and feel the mini-shocks running up my arm, as I turn it into a scythe blade.

Dad smiles, "Very good. You seem to have strong weapon blood. Perhaps you will take after your father. Who knows?"

Suddenly I realise the piano music has stopped. I seem to have a strange sense of peace.

"Thank you." I say.

And I mean it.

**More Authors' Notes: Okay, I'm pretty sure what little followers I had just unsubscribed/favourited/followed. I'm not proud of the fact I killed Maka and Soul of, but the story hasn't finished, Oh no, we have about fifty more chapters, and the story's gonna get good! Also, this is going to be quite a tragic story :O Sorry, guys! I hope you continue to read!**

**Thank you again! ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's notes: ****Hi guys! Really, I have no excuse this time, so please don't kill me. I have French GCSE's. My teachers keep pushing me work harder. What can I say? Oh, yeah.**

**I'M SORRY! Also, a big thank you to all the lovely peoples that reviewed this. You made my day, thank you!**

**Lucy Ashley from Fairy Tail**** – Thank you so much, you've been reviewing from the start! So glad to know someone actually likes my writing, I thought I'd put it up here and get people telling me how to improve m stuff, I didn't think people would actually like it! (Sorry, Am I gushing? I think I'm gushing.)**

**CherryBlossom1233**** – Thank you very much! I loved the symmetrical cookie. It was delicious! I'm so glad you liked it!**

**Red Velvet is love**** – Thank you! Initially I wanted to write a fanfic about Maka and Soul's dysfunctional daughter and then I was like, 'Heck! Character death! Why not?' Also, I agree, I'm always sympathetic and like, like 'Poor Camellia' and get guilty for being mean to characters. But if you think this is bad, you should until the last chapters (a very, very long time away) In which I plan to send all my fans into sadness. xD**

**Sorry about slow updates, Please review, favourite, follow, always appreciated, but no worries! xD**

Before he leaves my room, I tell him about the woman I've seen around. Sometimes just a glimpse – a figment of my imagination. Stumbling over bins, around corners, in alleyways, at the edge of my vision.

"What woman?" He asks. I shrug; I've never seen her before.

"What did she look like?" His voice is harder now; a rough edge to it.

I balled up my hands into fists and rested them on top my head. "Hair, like ears, and I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out."

"Where have you seen her?"

"I dunno, like, around town? I thought she was following me, and then I thought that would be . . . ridiculous . . ." My sentence trails off as my father's face creases in worry, and perhaps anger. I can never really tell what he is feeling.

"Dad?"

"Mm-hmmm," he says thoughtfully, not concentrating. Really, whatever must be outside my window must be so very incredibly interesting.

"Dad!" I shout.

"Who is she?"

"Who's who?"

"The woman!"

"What woman . . . oh,"

"Yes," I say, frustrated, "Who is she?"

"She's . . . A very dangerous woman. Stay away from her," he turns to face me.

"Her name is Blair, and she knew your parents. And I know you've never met her, but you have to stay away – she knew your parents. Lived with them for a long time. And – And when you were born, and your parents died, a lot of people were left behind to grieve. And grief does funny things to people."

"That must be a lot people that hate me."

He crouches at my feet and takes my hands.

"No, sweetheart, they don't hate you, none of them do. They think they do, but they don't. No one could ever hate you."

It sounds so good and I want to believe it. I really do.

But it's not true.

"I know why."

"What?"

"I know why," I gulp, "So many people want me dead,"

The colour drains from his face.

"Now you know that's not true-"

"Yes," I snap, frustrated, "Yes, it is true. It may not be my fault that they died, but I can understand how these people think. Why should I get to live, when I wasn't wanted or needed in the first place? An accident. That's what I was, wasn't I? And don't say no, because there are a lot of people who don't want me here, alive."

Silence. There seems to be so many of these in our house.

He opens his mouth to speak.

My voice quietens, ever so slightly.

"I don't deserve to be here. And you know this is true."

"No-"

"They didn't deserve this! They were young!"

"And so are you!" He shouts, making me jump.

"Don't you ever, EVER, wish you weren't here. You're the most important thing in the world! Do you understand? Don't you ever say that again!"

I don't nod, or agree. I desperately want to but I have to be strong. I want us to have a normal father-daughter relationship, and then I realise we never will, because this – these ups and downs, love and trust one moment, and anger and worry the next, is what keeps us going. We're survivors.

I hate being a survivor.

"From now on, I'm getting you an escort. You're not to leave their side, do you hear me?" he says gravely.

"What?! You can't do that!" I want to scream.

But a voice inside my head echoes.

All he wants to do is keep you safe.

"I can get you an escort who's your age, if you'd like."

All he wants to do is keep you safe.

All he wants to do is keep you safe.

"Someone you can get along with. How about one your friends?"

I have no friends my age. I can't tell him that.

"How about . . . Hiro's so? He's a nice boy."

I silently hold in my groan.

"Nothing like his father. Kind, helpful, strong . . . make a great meister."

His hints are anything but subtle.

"He could be your partner for the ball."

Oh god, Hiro's son.

Wait.

A ball?

Oh god, a ball.

I don't know which one is worse.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"What ball?"

"Why, your anniversary!"

"My what?"

"Your anniversary. Of being with us. Thirteen years tomorrow. I told you it was tomorrow evening. Did you forget?" He smiled.

And here we go again. The atmosphere of the room. Our relationship. Up and down. Rage then joy then regret and sorrow. I can never tell where we are with each other.

And here we. I point to the door and ask him to leave. He sighs, gets up, kisses my forehead, and turns to leave.

"I'll think about it."

"What?"

"I'll think about it. Hiro, the ball, getting a meister. If you want me to work harder, I will. At being a good daughter. At school. At being a normal person.

"Yeah," He says smiling, "I think I'd like that."

**Author notes:**** Angst and fluff? Odd combo. Never mind. I'm not particularly proud of this chapter, it's incredibly rushed but I appreciate that you guys took the time to read it, so,**

**Thank you so much for reading guys!**


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